


nothing to you but so much to me

by jaloulia



Category: Outer Banks (TV)
Genre: 1x1, Child Abuse, Friendship, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, takes one small line and turns it into a ten page ramble, treasure
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-01
Updated: 2020-06-15
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:40:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24498082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaloulia/pseuds/jaloulia
Summary: JJ's life is full of innocent moments and sentences that haunt him.AKAI noticed a lot of little sentences and scenes in the sow relating to JJ that I wanted to dive into and explore. so enjoy this series of one-shots that take two seconds of screen time and turn them into long-winded rambles haha
Relationships: JJ & John B. Routledge
Comments: 7
Kudos: 98





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> 'JJ needed whatever kind of treasure they were going to find on that boat, but also he needed to be justified; he needed to win just once. He couldn't hand a victory over to the kooks or the police one more time.'  
> \---  
> I feel like JJ makes it pretty clear in the show that he's against cops, so here's a ten-page ramble on why because why not.  
> \---  
> disclaimer I do not own outer banks

JJ doesn’t trust cops. There are multiple reasons why and he’s always very verbal about them, so his friends fucking know he doesn’t trust cops yet, John B has the audacity to imply that he’s planning on listening to one.

“Peterkin said if I stay out of the marsh, she’ll help me with DCS.” John B shrugged, looking oddly defeated to be the JJ’s determined, reckless, freckled friend. 

Not only is John B planning on listening to and obeying a cop’s orders, but he plans on listening to Peterkin? JJ fucking hates that woman. He knows that’s rude and harsh. Teachers always tried to tell him hate was a strong word, and he knew that. He’d had it hurled at him enough time to know it stung. Eventually, however, he decided he would be stronger than the little word, and now it didn’t hurt him, and he didn’t see the harm in hate anymore. Somewhere in his heart, he knew that was really bad, but he always tried not to listen to his heart.

Everyone else in the town seemed to think Peterkin is a great sheriff, and somewhere deep down, JJ knows she probably is. But he will never accept it. Peterkin had turned one too many blind eyes, left the staged and healthy version of JJ’s house without suspecting the horrors that go on there, too often to ever be on his good side. 

“And you believe her?” JJ asked, still in disbelief but knowing the answer. She does seem believable. JJ remembers once when he believed her. 

He had stolen a pencil sharpener, a fucking pencil sharpener of all things, but he had needed it. His sixth-grade teacher had looked him straight in the eyes and spoke to him in that annoyed tone most adults took with him that always made him want to bang his head against a wall cause god he was so stupid. She had told him, peering over her glasses, 'John Maybank, I gave a very specific list of what you would need for this class on the first day. Everyone else has managed to get a pencil sharpener and so can you.' 

'Screw you, Ms. Bruner', he had thought as Peterkin, the freaking sheriff stopped him as soon as he walked outside the door. She must have been watching him in the store, no doubt suspecting the worse from the Maybank kid because she forced him to empty his pockets and reveal the dark blue one dollar sharpener. 

It really wasn’t a big deal in JJ’s mind, and Peterkin had made him believe that’s what she thought, too, by limiting his punishment for the crime to a stern lecture. After she had finished, JJ had hesitantly asked if she was going to call his father. Peterkin had looked at him with what he had thought were sincerely warm eyes and promised as long as he returned the object, his dad didn’t have to find out.

What a bag of bologna. His dad had found out alright, and this was made clear to JJ the moment he stepped foot in his house. That evening his dad had started calm, and that was always scarier to JJ because it was so unfamiliar. It always put him on edge when his dad decided to act seemingly normal eventually, though the calm broke as it always did, and JJ was once again plunged into painful familiarity. 

Familiar fists and familiar insults. 

His dad had been beyond pissed that a cop had shown up at their doorstep because, after all, JJ learned his initial wariness of them from someone. And even though she was only there to explain that JJ needed some school supplies his Dad and took offense. To Peterkin, she was being helpful to Luke Maybank she was trying to tell him how to raise his kid.

JJ sure heard about that. 

“what the fuck you been telling people, boy?! That I don’t take care of you? That I’m not a good father?!” Luke had shouted as he stood over him, JJ’s scrawny eleven-year-old frame huddled in a corner. JJ didn’t get trapped in corners anymore.

That was the first night JJ’s dad didn’t stop once the boy had escaped his attack and run to take refuge and nurse his injuries in his room.  
It was bad. 

It was also one of the first nights JJ considered what his dad would do if he accidentally killed him, and in the deepest darkest corners, JJ considered how he could kill his father. 

His door was kicked in, and his lock broken that night, and JJ had Peterkin to thank for his lack of safety.

His lack of confidence that his dad would never really, seriously hurt him.

And his lack of pencil sharper. 

“Yeah, I believe her, JJ.” John B’s tone is just a little too close to the familiar annoyed adult one, and that pisses JJ off even more.

“An actual cop, John B.” JJ wasn’t asking any more he was stating with disappointment in his voice, hoping his best friend would realize how idiotic he was being, “you believed a cop.” His voice dies a bit at the end of his sentence because he’s not only pissed off.

Nope, not only angry...JJ’s feelings are also hurt as fuck.

He hates that saying cause he hurts enough, he doesn’t need his damn emotions getting beat up too, but he never knows how else to explain it when one of his friends betrays him. Because it’s not the dismissive wave he gives to teachers and acquaintances when they once again fail to notice the way he’s clutching his ribs or the fact that it’s really not his fault he can’t sit still, there’s something messing with his wires in his brain and he literally just doesn’t get how all these kids can just exist for eight hours straight sitting. That kind of betrayal is fine because he doesn’t care about those people. And it’s different when his dad, in a drugged-up haze, hugs him and says he loves him and blames his harshness on his own childhood experiences or JJ’s similarities to his mother, only to tell him he’s a worthless piece of shit later that evening after the sleeping pills have worn off and he’s downed enough alcohol. JJ is numb to that betrayal. He’s almost happy to play the cycle over and over because at least int that cycle, his dad loves him once every couple weeks or so. He tries to convince himself that it makes up for all the hits and emotional bruising his dad doles out the rest of the time.

Betrayal from his best friends is the only kind he actually feels, so how fucking dare John B believe a cop. John B is trying to defend his decision, but JJ is too far gone to reasonably listen to anything John B has to say right now.

Cops never did shit for JJ, and they never did shit for John B either as a matter of fact. All they’ve been focused on this whole time is tearing him away from JJ and Pope and Kiara, so why the fuck would they suddenly change their minds? John B may have the luxury of being naive, but JJ has never been able to afford that. He knows sooner or later, despite what they do, DCS will come knocking once again. You can’t fucking trust cops.

You can’t trust them to keep DCS away…

and you can’t trust them to send DCS either. Even after you sit in the back of a squad car with a broken arm and a bruised cheek begging the officer not to take you home, telling him you were fine, you weren’t running away you were just going to the store and please please don’t take me home yet. 

The cops failed JJ, but they would not fail John B. Whatever it was, they had stumbled across it was big, and it was going to change things for their raggedy group, they wouldn’t even need cops anymore. Now, if only he could get that through John B’s thick skull, JJ thinks bitterly, chucking a pebble, particularly hard.

“It doesn’t help that your ass was the one shooting the gun.” JJ had zoned out away from John B’s words, but his accusatory I-told-you-so-tone drew him back. 

JJ chucked a pebble, particularly hard, and shook his head in annoyance. When John B shifted into defensive territory, reasoning with him got a lot more difficult. John B was chill and relaxed down to his core. He preferred to brush conflict off with a stupid joke and a middle finger, so when he actually started trying to win an argument and let that very strong if often hidden stubborn side out, changing John B’s mind on something was not an easy feat.

JJ was the opposite. He preferred to start out with angry eyes and snide remarks meant to offend if he could afford to and then chill out, apologize, and forget. So JJ wasn’t really surprised at the words that tumbled out of his mouth without thinking.

“You know what I should’ve done, man?” He asked, not leaving room for a response, “I should have let Topper drown your ass.” 

“Yeah,” John b scoffed sarcasm dripping from his facial expression “because topper was gonna drown me.”

“Sure looked like it.” JJ quipped back.

Where were the police then, by the way? He wanted to ask John B. Really to rub his point that the police don’t give a fuck into his face. It seemed like the bastards were only ever around to get them in trouble, not save them. If the cops would’ve gotten their heads out of their asses for two seconds and noticed the rager party full of underage drinking and drugs going on right down the road, then JJ wouldn’t have had to pull his gun out. 

“Funny.” John B barked out a fake laugh. 

“Have you looked in a mirror?” JJ asked and got up casually, getting closer to John B, acting unbothered by the argument he was having with his best friend and hoping he was getting under his skin. He was also hoping to be in close proximity with John B would remind him that JJ was here for him, Pope was here for him, even Kie was here for him, his friends would help him. Not some guy in a blue uniform who thought a gold badge made him better than everyone.

“Tell me some more.” John B prompted also playing the unbothered card, something he would always win at as much as JJ hated to admit, “come on.”

“They always win, don’t they?” JJ leaned up against a wooden post looking his friend dead in the eye, abandoning his nonchalance and counting on his flair for the dramatic to get through to John B. “Kooks vs. POgues.” John B dismissively shook his head at JJ, and another shot of pain flowed through JJ’s feelings. “They always win!” JJ hit a bouy hanging from the roof. “Goddamn!”

“Look, it’s okay!” Kie spoke up for the first time, and that’s when JJ had to turn away because how dare she. He was trying to make a point. JJ loved Kie, but he couldn't help but feel bitter at that moment. Kiara was a pig ur, sure, but she went home every night to a million-dollar home and snapped pictures of her friends on a thousand dollar phone when JJ’s phone was five models behind. Kiara was wealthy, and Kiara didn’t get it. JJ needed whatever kind of treasure they were going to find on that boat, but also he needed to be justified; he needed to win just once. He couldn't hand a victory over to the kooks or the police one more time.

“No, it's not okay!” JJ huffed out a humorless laugh, “It’s not. They don’t want us to go down to the marsh that means there's something valuable down there.”

JJ remembered once when he was thirteen, old enough at that age to have a reputation known amongst the police force in their little marsh town, of being a  
troublemaker, a thief, a fighter, and a bunch of other bad things. Back then, the town had held a talent show of sorts to celebrate a hundred years of being established on that miserable bank. The winner of the talent show was going to get a thousand dollar prize. The idea of a thousand dollars had blown JJ’s mind, and as much as he hated the idea of getting up in front of a bunch of people and performing, he had to give it a shot. So with Pope’s help, he had arranged a comedy routine, which was all good and dandy. The real trouble happened when JJshowed up at the contest.

He was late, but it didn’t matter because there was still a line of people waiting to go, so he moved to go stand there. A hand landed on his shoulder before he reached the line and made him jump out of his skin. He had whirled around expecting angry blue eyes and rough, bruised knuckles, but it wasn't his dad; it was an officer.

“Can I help you, sir?” JJ had asked quizzically, cautiously shifting back into feeling comfortable.

“Boy, this is a serious performance.” He had spoken with such assuredness, “we don’t need you up there goofing off.” 

JJ had tried to defend himself and assure the policeman that he had a serious act, he had practiced and worked hard, but the guy would not let him pass. Obviously, that ended with a scene. A scene of JJ spitting on the cop's shoes and being dragged away and thrown in the back of the squad car that drove him back home.

That ended up with an even bigger scene starring his dad, and once again, JJ only had the cops to thank for his first hospital visit because he had “fallen out of his treehouse”.

He was supposed to end that night with a thousand dollars, not a broken arm and a concussion. But the policeman had decided JJ wasn’t worthy of the prize.  
He was not once again going to be declared unworthy but someone who thought they were any better.

“I understand why you don’t wanna go.” JJ pointed at Pope, who had stayed mainly quiet the whole argument, “you’re the golden boy, you got way too much to risk.” he turned to Kiara.

“And you, I mean,” JJ tried to hide the bitter undertone in his words, “you’re already rich as fuck anyways, why would you bother?” By the offended look on Kie’s face, JJ guessed he didn’t hide it well enough. “But you and me man, “JJ turned to study John B now keeping his voice calm and steady, hoping to soften his friends' features. He still looked pretty annoyed, so JJ decided to ramp it back up, “we got nothing to lose! We really don't, alright?”

“JJ…” John B shook his head once again that unfamiliar defeat was apparent in his mannerisms. 

“I know it didn’t use to be that way for you.” JJ knew now he was stepping into dangerous waters, but he really really needed John B to trust him.

“I don’t wanna talk about this. I don’t wanna talk about it.” John B just looked sad now, and JJ felt a twinge of guilt as his best friend stood up and moved to walk past him. But as much as JJ hated how manipulative he sounded in his own brain, he knew that this meant he was getting somewhere. He could work with sad John B.

“That’s it, huh?” JJ asked.

“Just get out of my way, bro!” John B lashed out and shoved JJ aside. 

JJ only took a moment to collect himself. He hated this when things got physical between them, and he hated how suddenly he didn't want to follow John B.  
His mind, his sober mind at least, had been accustomed to duck away from physical aggression and not follow it. It’s just his instinct.

But this is John B, and John B would never really hurt him

Somewhere so far down in the pit of JJ’s mind that he can only stand to think about it for half a second, JJ considers how he once said that about his dad and now look where he was. JJ shivered and grabbed onto a rope hanging down to bring himself back to rational thinking. John B would never seriously hurt him. 

“John B, listen to me.”JJ takes a breath and jogs to go stand next to where John B had relocated, “I have a plan.” JJ didn’t have a plan, but in the five seconds, it took him to reach his best friend, he managed to bullshit one up. 

“You have the key to Cameron's big boat, right?” He asks, already knowing the answer and ignoring John B’s weak protests, “there's scuba gear inside man.” JJ looks John B in the eye, and pride swells in his mind because he knows that look in John B’s eyes. He is actually finally listening to him.

“We borrow that, and then we go down to the wreck this afternoon, and that is what’s gonna save you!” JJ can’t keep the smile out of his voice, and he slings an arm around John B’s shoulders, feeling them loosen up and relax, “You don’t see rich kids going into foster care.”

John B is shaking his head again in that way that usually means you’re an idiot JJ, but he can’t hide the smirk on his lips as he looks away from JJ. They have a plan. 

JJ almost sighs in relief when John B agrees, and JJ, hopes at least, that he is beginning to once again to realize the only people who are gonna help him are right here in his trashy backyard. 

JJ whoops in joy and grabs both of JOhn B’s shoulders, now pulling him into a hug. “We’re gonna be rich, man!”

“Yeah, yeah,” John B playfully shoves him off, and JJ doesn’t care this time because fuck his instincts, fuck his hurt emotions, fuck john b’s defensive side, and most importantly…

Fuck the police.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'The paint falling from the wall due to the bangs and screams inside should have been concerning because JJ should have wanted to rush in there and help Miss Lana and make sure she was okay.
> 
> But it wasn't concerning like that for JJ.
> 
> All JJ was concerned about was getting the fuck out of there. All he wanted to do was run and leave and ignore and deny, deny, deny.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait, but I hope you guys like this chapter concerning JJ and paint flakes. Please comment and leave some kudos. Thank you so much for all the support on the previous chapter!  
> \---  
> Trigger Warning!   
> There are vague references to sexual assault in this chapter. Nothing graphic but they are sprinkled throughout the whole chapter, so if you are by any means triggered by mentions of sexual assault, I'd recommend skipping this one.   
> \---   
> disclaimer I do not own outer banks

_Don't listen. Don't listen_.

"Don't listen." JJ didn't mean to say it out loud, but John B glances over at him with a question in his eyes, so he guesses he must have.

JJ knows what it's like to be the one crying and alone in a worn-down shack when someone stronger than you is angry. Angry enough to decide yelling isn't enough. He knows how shameful that can feel to be cowering in a corner, feeling powerless against someone in your own fucking home. So JJ tries not to listen just as he hopes his friends wouldn't listen if they heard clattering and shouts from his home.

JJ suddenly in his panicked state has the urge to beg John B not to be a stubborn asshole and turn the other way if he ever hears fighting inside JJ's home - to not listen - because he _knows_ John B. Knows him well enough to understand that if John B ever witnessed the violence, not just heard about it, not just threw ice packs at JJ to mend the aftermath, but if he actually saw it there would be no stopping him. JJ's not exactly sure what he would do, but he knows his normally nonchalant friend would get that cruel and cunning look in his eyes that sometimes made JJ wonder 'what the heck had possessed his best friend' and he could ruin both of their lives for good. But before he can open his mouth, paint flakes from Ms. Lana's old colorful shack rain down onto JJ's head, and he freezes. Not just his body, but everything around him just freezes for a moment.

The way the paint sticks in his hair and lightly dusts his neck should have been inconceivable. The fact that he could see a white paint flake hanging off the end of one of his stupid strands of hair that could never seem to be pushed back should have been no big deal.

The paint falling from the wall due to the bangs and screams inside should have been concerning because JJ should have wanted to rush in there and help Miss Lana and make sure she was okay.

But it wasn't concerning like that for JJ.

All JJ was concerned about was getting the fuck out of there. All he wanted to do was run and leave and ignore and deny, deny, deny.

Deny that he knew exactly how terrifying it was to hit a wall so hard that paint fell. JJ shivered at the thought and scolded himself for even going there he swore never to think of that night again. Never. But the single passing glimpse of it reminds him of the smell of whiskey and body odor and something else all far too close to his face, his chest his arms… everywhere. It reminds him of laughter at things that are far from funny and hands in places…

places that hands should not be.

JJ's dad was a drug smuggler at one point, which meant JJ's dad was often surrounded by unsavory people, which meant unsavory people were often at their home where thirteen-year-old JJ also was. And once, only once, unsavory people were in thirteen-year-old JJ's room.

They had wanted things. Wanted to do things in their wasted and high haze that JJ couldn't bring himself to even think about because that would make it real, and JJ was not going to be a fucking victim. Thirteen-year-old JJ didn't let it get far, but it was far enough. Far enough that he went into a frenzy long after he'd kicked and hit and bit and squirmed enough that the unsavory people decided he wasn't worth the effort, beat him up, and left. Far enough that he found himself screaming at himself, pulling at his hair and slamming his fist into his bedroom wall over and over and over until paint floated from the wall and dusted his head. Far enough that he hardly ever slept in his own room anymore. Instead, on most nights, he opted to sleep in at the chateau or Pope's treehouse where the paint stayed firmly on the walls.

"Is that paint?" JJ whispered to John B even though he knew the answer. He just wanted to stop thinking about the paint, and he figured if he could just bring it up, then it would be out in the open and forgotten.

"Yes, it's paint." JJ tries to ignore the slightly frustrated huff in John B's answer because he doesn't know. He doesn't get how terrifying it is to have paint in your hair, so JJ bites his lip to keep back a disgruntled, snarky response that would surely only bother John B more and tries to calm his erratic, panicked breathing. He tries to think of ways to make John B leave because he really really doesn't want to fucking be here anymore, not with white flakes in his hair and tickling his sweating neck. He squeezes his eyes shut once again, trying to block out the all too familiar sounds of violence inside and the paint that was light as a feather, feeling like a pound of bricks on his shoulders.

The screen door to the old hippie shack slams shut as the violent men from inside leave.

"We should just go." JJ's heart is racing as John B creeps past him somehow unafraid of the paint in his hair and the rampage that had just happened inside, "He's got smuggler written all over him." JJ continues. He could determine the type of man they were dealing with just from the glimpse he got through the window before he had practically tackled John B down away from it. The men inside had been strong and shady looking. Besides that, JJ wasn't sure why he reminded him of drug smugglers, of the guys his dad would have around. Although JJ noted after The Night, he'd stopped looking at their faces. They all just started to blur together and look like animals driven by alcohol and an unattainable ultimate high, whether that be drugs, wealth, treasure, or something else. JJ's hands start to shake. Maybe that's why he couldn't quite pinpoint what those guys looked like and what he saw in them that made him so fucking ashamed and terrified. 

"Shut up." John B hushes him dismissively as he peers around the corner. Again JJ tries not to be angry that John B doesn't understand because, of course, he doesn't. All John B knows of drug dealers, and smugglers is the eighteen-year-old kook crackhead, Larry, they get their weed from. Larry is on the math and golf team; his dad's an esteemed electrician, and Larry exclusively wear thrasher t-shirts and expensive board shorts. JJ often wonder if the guy is ever not high the way he's constantly laughing and spurting out butterfly facts. Not a scary dude, to say the least. He can see why John B's perception may be warped.

Suddenly John B's arm is across his chest, slamming him back against the house, and JJ is taken by surprise but hopeful that maybe John B caught that same animalistic glimpse of these guys and finally realized they had to get the fuck out.

"Shut up. Shut up." John B continues to whisper even though JJ isn't fucking saying anything, and by the way, he's creeping forward, he guesses his friend isn't planning on leaving.

Whatever. It doesn't mean JJ can't leave.

Let John B live his little adventure movie JJ thinks to himself. Let him find out you don't mess with these types of guys the hard way, and then maybe he'll come running back to JJ, tail between his legs apologizing for telling him to shut up. 

As JJ considers straightening fro his crouched position and walking away to let John B deal with whatever mess he was gonna find he sees, the men hop in a boat at the end of Miss Lana's dock. JJ recognizes it. "Dude, those were the guys that shot at us." JJ whisper yells in protest.

"Go back, go back." John B orders him around once again, plastering himself to the wall. Usually, JJ doesn't take orders from anyone - well anyone that's not gonna bash his face in and remind him what a worthless piece of shit he is over and over - not even John B but his trembling hands and sweaty face decide it's okay just this once as he too presses against the pink wall. JJ hopes John B will choose now to they should get the fuck out. But of course, he doesn't. Damn this stubborn streak. And despite JJ's previous plans to walk away, he follows him as he turns the corner to enter Lana's house.

JJ keeps his eyes on the boat as they wander into the shack, making sure it's truly leaving, and those guys aren't going to come back. 

"Shit." JJ looks up at John B's utterance and notices the doors ripped off the hinges. It reminds him of that night his dad nearly destroyed his bedroom door. 

'Fuck you, Peterkin.'

"Miss Lana?" John B calls out with a calm and comforting nature in his voice. John B always had that voice he could turn on and off, the one that made adults melt and let him get away with stuff. That voice JJ could never seem to copy. 

JJ had tried once with his dad when he was a stupid thirteen years old after The Night. Luke had obviously not respected JJ's attempt to calmly discuss with his father whether or not JJ had "offended" a few of his dad's best suppliers the other night. 'Why the fuck do I have them telling me you fucking attacked them?' his dad had questioned anger in his eyes, ignoring the bruises over his own son's face and chest that he, for once, had not put there. JJ had tried so desperately to explain they attacked him first in that same calm and honey voice John B used. It hadn't worked. 

JJ had obviously left out certain details, but he didn't know if they would have made a difference. His Dad could never know about those things. The embarrassment would be too much JJ had decided back then. His dad would only laugh at him or call him a liar. 

Or even worse. 

In the days and weeks after The Night when he wasn't able to avoid crossing paths with those certain unsavory people - not for lack of trying - their eyes would stay on him too long, in a way that made JJ want to puke, before returning to laughing and talking with Luke. They were friends, which made JJ want to puke even more. And that's where the even worse thought popped into JJ's mind, would his dad be mad at him if he told him about That Night. Would he beat him for not letting them do what they wanted?

"Miss Lana!" JJ shook himself from his thoughts at John B's yell and wanted to scream for once again allowing himself to go there, to that memory. Instead, he focused on where Lana was huddled in the bathroom next to a sink that had been torn off the wall. John B touched her arms, and JJ winced at that. Hadn't being JJ's friend for seven years taught him anything? You can't grab someone when they're like that. It just doesn't work. After being so frightened, any touch, no matter how calm or comforting, is gonna feel like a thousand bee stings. Sure enough, Miss Lana flinches away and turns to look at them with horror in her eyes.

"Dude, she's tweaking." JJ pulls John B's hands away from Ms. Lana and then looks away. He doesn't really want to look at her like that, crying and cringing with cuts and bruises on her face. JJ doesn't want to look because he knows he's looked like that before. More times then he wants to count, he's been tweaked out huddled in the bathroom, his closet, Pope's treehouse, his bedroom. He liked to find that safe place just to let it out and not think. After That Night, it had been John B's room. 

He remembered how spooked his young friend had been as JJ shook and sobbed curled into a ball on John B's rug, knuckles bloody, and the rest of him covered in wounds visible and non-visible. He'd never told John B what happened that night, but he remembers how his friend had commented on the paint in his hair, eyes full of tears wringing his hands trying to figure out what to do. Poor thirteen-year-old John B. 

God fucking dammit. Why was he thinking about That Night again?

"Let's call the sheriff. "John B declared.

"No, no cops!" Miss Lana protested voice full of sobs.

"That's not good," JJ remarked, as much as he agreed that cops weren't needed, her comment only furthered his image of the shady men. Miss Lana was definitely wrapped up in some bad shit with some bad people, and JJ wanted nothing to fucking do with it. His dad had finally gotten out of that lifestyle, and JJ was not about to follow in his footsteps. Someone would have to hold a gun to his friend's head to make him even consider getting involved with drug dealers and smugglers." C'mon dude, let's just go." JJ pulled at John B's arm.

"You shouldn't be here." Miss Lana cried, eyes puffy and swollen with tears. 

"That's enough for me. "JJ grasped at John B's arm tighter, but he just shook him off.

"Wait, wait." John B looked at Miss Lana with determination, "what do you know about these guys?"

"They were looking for something." her voice broke with fear and sadness.

_C'mon you little shit; we're just looking for a bit of fun. stay still._ JJ ran his hands through his hair 'shut the fuck up' he yelled in his head. It wasn't like that. That's not what she meant.

Damn those paint flakes were really doing a number on him.

"Does it have anything to do with this?" John B was oblivious to JJ's distressed state as he pulled his beloved compass out of his pocket, but that was fine. JJ didn't want to even be thinking about this, so the last thing he wanted was a chick flick talk with John B about it. It's not like he was annoyed that John B hadn't listened to a fucking thing he said or did since they got here. No of fucking course not.

After the compass was brought up, Lana got considerably more upset if that was even possible, and it ended with her shrieking at the to get out and JJ practically dragging John B out the door. 

"Dude, what the fuck?" John B roughly shook out of JJ's grasp on his arm once they were outside and arching towards the van. "You weren't letting me do anything. "John B was annoyed for sure, and he had skipped right over his passive jokes and middle fingers stage. "Since when did you turn into a chicken shit?"

"Oh right, right," JJ laughed, trying to brush off his hurt that John B still hadn't noticed he was trembling, "well excuse me for trying to keep you from getting tangled up in some serious shit man!" 

"Whatever, JJ." John B scoffed and slammed the driver's side door as he climbed in the Volkswagon.

JJ opted to sit in the back. He didn't really want to talk to John B right now. He didn't really want him to notice his labored breathing and his shaking hands.   
He was lying, but it was easier to pretend like he wasn't. And John B was right after all JJ was a coward. He just needed to forget that night. Smugglers and dealers were messed up people, but JJ could handle them. He wasn't thirteen anymore, and he wasn't scared anymore.

JJ ran a hand through his hair and stared at the paint flakes that stuck to his fingers and knew he was lying again. But that was fine JJ would turn up his flair for the dramatic, masquerade his real fear for comical fake fear that the pogues would roll their eyes at and believe just like they fucking always did. 

Ouch. Fuck

JJ had to learn to become a worst liar. 

And to wear hats more often...

just in case of any falling paint.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you liked my writing a comment and kudos would be very appreciated and likely motivate me to continue with this. Love you guys!  
> \---  
> sorry for any typos. I hate editing so I tend to miss stuff haha.

**Author's Note:**

> sorry for any typos. I hate editing so I tend to miss stuff haha.  
> please leave kudos and comment if you want! Thank you!


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